


get you wild, make you leave

by Evenbechbaesheim



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bipolar Disorder, Complete, Denial, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Everything is the same but also very different, Implied Sexual Content, Jonas is the ultimate stoner, M/M, Manic Episode, Marijuana, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mild Sexual Content, Mildly Dubious Consent, Much much fluffier than the tags will lead u to believe, Recovery, Recreational Drug Use, but for once being gay isn't what Isak is denying, but what else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 20:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11112342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenbechbaesheim/pseuds/Evenbechbaesheim
Summary: Not much is different. Just, Isak and Even meet a few years later than planned, and it isn’t at kosegruppa. It’s at a drug addicts anonymous meeting.[COMPLETE]/It had been months since he’d last set foot in the support group- not once since the first ever meeting- but the sad, limp banner still hangs and the same old faces still gather round, doing their fucking paired trust exercises or whatever. They don’t seem to look any better than they had the first time Isak had seen them, and he scoffs. They clearly didn’t get it.They hadn’t had the same epiphany he and Even had.The only way to get over an addiction was to find something else to be addicted to.





	1. part one

 

 

**_Narkotikagruppa!!! All Are Welcome!! ALT ER LOVE <3_ **

 

 

Isak wants to vomit.

 

The sign, obviously, is emblazoned with an assortment of multi-coloured hearts and far too many exclamation points. He’d known Vilde since high school, didn’t expect any less of her. She was hardly known for her sensitivity back then. Clearly, not much had changed.

 

Here’s the thing:

 

Isak wouldn’t consider himself a _drug addict_. He’s just, a person who _takes drugs_. He doesn’t sit in dark rooms scratching at the inside of his wrists, crying and forgetting how to breathe. He isn’t pawning his Xbox and valuable belongings to get his next hit- he isn’t sleeping rough on the sleeps and crying into Mark Walberg’s arms like that film Jonas had not-so-subtly forced him to watch, tricking him with promises of a young Leonardo DiCaprio in order to deliver a powerful message about the tribulations of substance abuse.

Okay, yes, he _takes_ drugs. He does powders, all kinds. He’s taken pills. He smokes dope- but then, not even _Jonas_ really counted that as _drug_ -taking. It hadn’t been a problem in the beginning- they’d left high school and _russetiden_ had been quite the eye opening experience. Without the pressure of exams or his desperation to stay hidden away, deep in the closet, Isak had just felt a whole lot more _open_ to trying new things. So, when an attractive guy with untrustworthy sparkling green eyes and dark, _dark_ hair waved a baggy in front of his face and asked to trade a line for a _kiss_ , he’d been pretty interested.

It had just sort of _continued_ from there. Isak has never called himself an addict, but sure- most of the parties he goes to with more of an intention to get high than to get drunk. His bladder’s almost completely shot (probably from too much K) and beer makes him want to puke after two or three. The comedowns can be pretty rough- but they can also be not-so-bad, on occasion. It’s more of a pic n mix bag. To him, that’s better odds than a hangover.

So Isak really didn’t want to go to this stupid meeting, set up by Vilde and Eva and a couple of the other girls he’d known in high school purely to get some extra credit on their final year of university. Not much has changed in the years since- Vilde’s voice is still irritatingly squeaky and Noora is prissy, perfect in all the ways he doesn’t understand. Eva still looks like more of an attendee than a host and Chris is just _Chris_ , smiling and overbearingly positive, slapping high fives as people wander through the doors with pale skin and wide, bug-eyes. Sana glares at him the moment he approaches, holding her hand out expectantly and arching one, beautifully sculpted dark eyebrow. Isak just huffs.

 

“Didn’t we used to be friends?”

She ignores him.

“Hand it over, Isak.”

“This is _entirely_ unfair!” he practically shrieks, as she reaches forward and digs into the small, secret pocket inside his jacket, taking out the little baggy of weed and packet of rolling papers. “Sana, come _on_ ,” he whines, as she tucks it inside of her _hijab_. “that’s like… _ten percent_ of my stash. It’s nothing, really!”

“I don’t care if it’s _one percent_ , Isak-”

“-it’s like, _two joints_!”

Her expression is stern, still scary as it was in high school. Her tone of voice is firm.

“You can’t bring _drugs_ , to a _drug addict_ support group.”

 

She’s got him there. He cringes when she says the word _addict_ , because recently, he’s been denying it more than he denied being gay for the first two years of _Nissen_. He’s reluctant, but he’d seen Sana in arguments many times before and certainly does not want to take her on himself. Instead, he sulks, marching into the room and flopping down in a seat at one of the farthest rows from the front. The seats fill up, gradually, sparsely even, and Isak catches eyes with one boy in particular he certainly doesn’t recognise. Of course, Isak hadn’t gone to _Drug Addicts Anonymous_ looking to _make friends_ nor catch up with old faces from his Nissen days, but there’s _something_ about this boy in particular- with his perfectly styled hair and his jean jacket and lazy smirk as he talks to Vilde, Eva and Sana, all of whom seem equally smitten with him- that makes Isak _want_ to know him.

But he’s sort of supposed to be keeping a low cover. He’s pretty sure having both the reputation of a _drug addict_ and a _slut_ is what’s making Jonas find grey hairs behind his ears despite the fact that they’re only twenty-one.

So Isak doesn’t push. The boy takes a seat even further back than he does, a few rows behind. Vilde drones on and on from the front, nervously babbling about the _paring_ system, how the _buddies_ are supposed to be consistent in checking up on each other and monitoring their behaviours, avoiding relapse as best as possible. Isak resists the urge to snort- because Vilde really hasn’t changed. She’s still easily flustered, naïve, unwittingly patronising. It’s funny to Isak when he realises that Vilde actually _believes_ that everyone here- including the guy sat in the front corner literally shivering despite the fact that he’s wrapped up in a thick winter coat- is already _clean_.

 

“And now it’s time for our first group exercise!” Eva announces. “If everyone could just stand up and make their way to the front, we’re going to try some bonding as you find your groups!”

 

That’s about enough for Isak. He slinks out the first chance he gets, as soon as Sana’s watchful, judging eyes drift away from him, darting off to the bathroom. He curses her in his head for taking the scrap of weed he’d brought along with him. If there was one thing he could go for right now, it would be a fucking _smoke_.

Isak exits the stall he’s been hiding in, playing _Clash of Clans_ on his phone embarrassingly loudly and moves to the sink to wash his hands. However, he stiffens the moment the cubicle door opens. Because someone else is in the bathroom.

 

It’s _him_.

 

He doesn’t say anything, so Isak doesn’t either, just approaches the sink nervously and wets his hand underneath the tap. The boy he doesn’t recognise is far too busy tugging every single fucking paper towel out of the dispenser, and the whole charade goes on for so long, Isak starts to wonder if he’s high already. That’s certainly a joint rolled neatly and tucked behind his ear. How he got _that_ one past Sana, Isak really isn’t sure.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally speaking after minutes of tense silence stretch between them. “Do you also need tissues?” he nods at the empty dispenser. Isak is too stunned to talk, and whatever this mystery fucking boy is trying, it seems to have worked successfully, because he smiles- the most teasing, quiet smirk, as he walks past Isak, out to the exit, not before stopping and leaning to whisper in his ear: _come outside_.

 

Isak goes outside.

 

It’s probably a bad idea. For all he knows, this guy is a deranged drug addict who wants to drag him around the side of the building and skin him alive. That, or he’s looking for a quick and easy blowjob. Isak wouldn’t be entirely opposed to either option.

 

“Want to smoke?” he holds the joint up, sat on top of the bench between the trees as Isak perches awkwardly next to him. Wordlessly, he nods, and the guy lights it. The smell in the air reminds Isak of _home_ \- his apartment, Jonas room, just across from his. It’s a familiar thing, weed. They’d been smoking together since they were kids. It’s the one drug Isak knows he’ll never give up, no matter what.

“I’m, uh Isak.” He says, taking a slow drag. The boy nods.

“Even. What are you in for, _Isak_?” he raises his eyebrows suggestively. Isak laughs, surprised at how nervous he feels in the presence of a total stranger.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m not really like… an _addict_. Just like… partying too much, I guess. Pills and powder and shit like that.” He shrugs, trying to play it off like it _isn’t_ a huge deal. Even seems to get it anyway, nodding slightly before taking the joint back and taking a few expert pulls himself, thick white smoke curling in the air around them and floating from his mouth in delicate rings. Somehow, it smells better trickling out from between Even’s plush, pink lips. Isak isn’t sure how he makes that work. “What about you?” he asks, a little hesitant. It’s a strange first conversation to have with someone. _What drug are you addicted to? My favourite colour is blue_.

“A bit of everything, really.” Even smirks. “But now my, uh, my parents are worried. It isn’t good for me, you know?”

Isak isn’t sure what he means by that, but he nods along anyway. In his experience, drugs aren’t necessarily _good_ for anyone. That certainly hadn’t stopped him.

“Cool.” He says, because he’s a fucking loser, apparently. “Well, uh, at least your parents care. I’ve only come because Jonas- he’s my best friend and, we like, live together- he’s worried about me. says I need to quit drugs, despite the fact that he’s like- the _biggest_ stoner I know.”

“Slightly hypocritical.” Even laughs, and Isak likes the sound. It’s deep, gravelly. _Smoky._

“Ja, I know. He grows his own fucking weed and deals and everything. Now, he’s at home, probably trying out his new glass blown pipe and I’m… _here_.” He gestures vaguely around them, laughing again as the joint is passed back to him. Even doesn’t laugh. He just stares at Isak beside him, an intense, unreadable look shining in his eye.

“This might sound keen,” he says, and Isak’s heart practically stops beating in his chest. “But would you like to come back to my place?”

Isak swallows the smoke in his throat, exhaling it through his nose.

“Uh, sure.” He nods, before even thinking. Of course, there’s plenty of reasons why going back to Even’s place is a bad idea. Sure, he’s supposed to be at the support group so Jonas doesn’t beat the shit out of him. Sure, Even is a _complete_ stranger who he doesn’t know, or trust.

But he’s fucking _hot_ \- so there’s that. Isak feels like it’s a risk worth taking.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Benders like this are probably the reason Jonas thinks he’s an addict in the first place.

 

Isak just can’t help himself. Even is like the holy fucking grail- and the moment he takes his first sip (it’s two AM, they’re off their faces on a mix of coke and _MD_ Even picked up from his upstairs neighbour and there’s a house just around the corner with a giant pool. Breaking and entering doesn’t seem like such a bad crime when you can’t feel your face, and the water against his skin makes Isak feel more alive than he has in days, months, _years_. When Even smashes their faces together underwater, his chest opens, ribs spilling out, and Even’s large hands reach inside, squeezing his lungs between his fist and stealing the all the oxygen from his brain to his toes) he’s hooked. It’s more powerful than any buzz he’s felt before.

They don’t _stop_. It doesn’t matter that Isak’s hair hasn’t dried yet and Even’s split his lip from chewing on it, the way his jaw has been swinging for hours. They make cheese toasties with every fucking spice they can find in Even’s poorly stocked cupboards ( _Kardamomme! The kardamomme is fucking essential, Isak!)_ and they taste like shit, but Isak doesn’t care. Every bite feels like magic, seeping over his taste-buds and crawling down his throat. He thinks he’s forgotten how to swallow- but who cares when in the next minute, Even is lunging towards him, shoving his tongue down his throat. Isak forgets that Even is just a stranger he met at a _drug addicts anonymous_ meeting, because when hands are playing between thighs and finally- _finally_ , Even is pushing into him, right there in the middle of the floor surrounded by their abandoned, putrid sandwiches and forgotten half-smoked joints, Isak doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything quite so _right_. It’s surreal, staring into Even’s eyes, watching his pupils blow dangerously wide when he lets go, entire body exploding into a thick ball of pure, white light.

 

“I think you’re the best fucking drug I’ve ever taken.” He tells Isak, long after, as the two lay in bed facing each other. Isak just laughs, because he’s forgotten how to speak. He doesn’t need to feel anything else except the sensation of Even’s long fingers, dragging through his hair, trailing down his face, tickling at his jawline.

 

And then he wakes up and it’s Sunday. And then the next time he opens his eyes, it’s Wednesday. And the next time, it’s the following Saturday. In the space of a week, he feels like Even knows him better than the people he’s known for years. Jonas texts him, telling him how proud he is of Isak for going to the meetings- but Isak can’t bring himself to tell the truth. It isn’t his fault- he’s just found an entirely different support group that’s working for him.

Drugs are sort of interesting like that. Drugs can keep you high for a few minutes, a few hours. In some cases, maybe even a few days. But the thing about drugs is that they don’t last forever. After a while, they fade and they flicker. The comedown can have you wondering if all the fun you had in the first place was _really_ worth it. The next time you take it up the nose or rub it into your gums- you remember that _of course it fucking is_.

But Even isn’t like any drug Isak’s taken before. It’s been three weeks, and he _still_ feels high. Aside from their initial bender- neither of them seem to bother thinking about any other substance nearly as much. They still smoke together, laid upside down, opposite each other on Isak’s bed, back in his apartment with a fat spliff of Jonas’ weed rolled perfectly by Even’s long, skilled fingers, a small ashtray rested between them. Isak turns his head and breathes smoke across the expanse of Even’s perfect face, and Even just takes another deep hit, humming as the smoke hits his lungs and flows from him beautifully, curling in the air like a wilting flower.

They smoke, but they don’t do anything _else_. The desire to take coke or a pill or a bump of _ket_ is replaced with a new, insatiable libido. Jonas pounds on the wall at night telling them to _shut up_ so Even grabs a scarf and ties it tightly around Isak’s mouth, between his teeth, effectively gagging him. He’s definitely quieter after that, but he comes harder than he ever has in his life. After that- they save it for Even’s large, empty apartment, where Isak can ride him and scream as loud as he wants, a joint hanging between his pretty pert lips as he does so.

Isak knows somethings changed when his _dealer_ \- a boy he’d known since high school called _Julian Dahl_ \- actually texts him asking if he’s okay, considering he hasn’t been in contact for quite a while. Isak opens the drawer in his desk and looks at the small bag of coke, perhaps half a gram left, that he’d picked up last. How long ago had that been? Two weeks? A month? Maybe more?

 

Isak takes the baggy and shoves it in the bottom corner of the lowest drawer in his dresser, hidden behind the clothes that are too short for his constantly-growing limbs. It’s just an emergency supply, just _in case_ he needs it. so far, so good.

 

The thing is- Isak had never _gone_ to the fucking support group with the intention of _quitting_. He’d just met Even and things had sort of worked out that way. The more time he spends with Even, the more he wonders why he did so much of it in the first place- because there’s no feeling that can compare with _this_ , Even between his thighs, dragging is tongue over all of Isak’s most intimate parts, making him fist the sheets and mewl like a fucking kitten. This is the kind of high Isak had never been able to experience- it’s fucking _mind melting_. When Even crawls up his body so they can lock eyes- fucking him _slow_ and _hard_ and _deep_ , Isak sees stars in his eyes.

 

“So that Even guy-” after a month and a half, Jonas tries to bring up the subject the only way he can- when he’s _high_ as fuck. They’d invited Magnus and Mahdi over for a _boys_ night (it had been a while since they’d all been together. Magnus and Mahdi had done the sensible thing in the years since Nissen by going to college. Jonas was a drug dealer. Isak didn’t know what his excuse was. Didn’t he used to be quite clever? No wonder Sana had looked so fucking disappointed in him. He hadn’t seen that _ten percent_ since) passing around a bong between the four of them until smoke sat in the air like a thick fog.

“What about him?” he asks, sleepily. Jonas shrugs, and Mahdi and Magnus share a quiet look.

“Is he like… your _boyfriend_ , or whatever?”

Isak shrugs. “Even and I… we’re sort of, different, I don’t know. It’s more than that- my _boyfriend_. That sounds so… weak in comparison to how I feel about him.” He knows he wouldn’t be talking like this if he wasn’t so fucking _high_ \- but the latest batch of _ami_ Jonas had grown wasn’t shit to play with. Isak may have packed the bong a little bit strong when it was his turn. Jonas was smart to stick to his own pipe.

Magnus coughed as he leant up off the bong. “Didn’t you meet in that like, drug group thing? Are you still going?”

Isak laughs. He hadn’t thought about the group in a long time. Turns out, he had his own kind of therapy instead.

“Fuck the group.” He says. “It was never the group that was going to get me clean. It’s Even that makes me better. I can’t even explain what we are.”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of dangerous though?” Jonas laughs nervously. Isak raises an eyebrow and Jonas just huffs in response, before explaining himself. “Like, putting all your success in moving on from addiction onto him. He’s not the sole reason you stopped sniffing coke, Isak. You have to credit yourself too. If you put it all on Even and he goes-”

“-we help each other.” Isak cuts him off. It’s about as much compromise as he’s going to give. It’s enough for Jonas, apparently, who just shrugs and says nothing. Isak doesn’t really know what to make of it. _If he goes_. He’s sort of been riding on the assumption that Even was never ever going to leave.

“When was the last time you took… well, anything?” Mahdi asks, after a few minutes of comfortable since. Isak frowns.

“You know what, Mahid?” he says, and for once, it’s the fucking _truth_. “I can’t even fucking remember.”

“That’s good then,” Magnus smiles, raising the bong above his head clumsily, so the water splashes out. “A toast, to _Even_. Isak’s _boyfriend_.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Isak smirks, but he toasts his beer anyway. “I told you all, it’s more than that. It’s like our fucking _souls_ are intertwined.”

 

Magnus laughs. “Dude. You’re high as _shit_.”

 

Isak laughs right back. Maybe he is. He just isn't sure if it's because of the weed.

 

He doesn’t think about it, really, until a few weeks later. They’re in Even’s apartment, laid on fresh bedsheets with a _Beatles_ vinyl playing slowly in the background, passing a single joint back and forth between them. Even’s such a fucking _hippy_ \- but Isak can’t help but smile fondly whenever he talks about life in the sixties. When Even says he _wishes_ he could’ve been alive to see it all- Isak can fucking _picture it_. It might just be the weed and the vaguely psychedelic music, but he can fucking _smell_ the grass on the floor at Woodstock, he can _feel_ the acid tab on his tongue and he can _see_ _Even_ \- decked out in fringe with a pair of those stupid round sunglasses with tinted lenses, yellow or maybe pink- swaying dreamily with _Jimi Hendrixx_ rocking out in the background.

“I’ve never felt so fucking high in my life,” Even says, as if he’s surprised, when the music twists and turns, pitch distorting and curling around them in suffocating embrace. Isak isn’t sure if it’s the song, or just his mind playing tricks on him- but he sort of likes it better that way.

“Me either.” He agrees. And that’s all they have to say.

 

* * *

 

 

Even managed to quit once before.

 

It was a few years ago, apparently. He had a girlfriend, Sonja. They’d been together since they were fifteen- right the way through high school. In their final year, when Even started getting a little more interested in _acid_ and other loves than he was in her, she locked him in his bedroom for a week and made him go completely cold turkey.

 

It had _nearly killed him_ \- he tells the story with a strange, distant look in his eye, staring up at the ceiling, Isak curled into his side- _it nearly fucking killed me, but right when I was on the brink of death, my eyes were opened and I saw her face and she pulled me out, right into the light_.

 

Isak’s heart is hammering in his chest.

 

“What happened after that?” he asks, awe-struck. Even shrugs. The magic dies.

 

“Sonja… she just wanted to control everything. And I realise now that… if someone forces you to stop doing something, _sure_ it will work, but only for a while. You might even start to feel real again if you’re forced long enough. But the moment that force ceases to exist, you’ll always go right back to the way it was before.” He takes a slow, deep breath, and drums his fingers on the back of Isak’s neck, relaxing the tension in his shoulders. “Because I didn’t want to stop.” Even says, eyes narrowing slightly, eyes glassy, fixed off in the distance at nothing in particular. “I _had_ to stop, that was the difference. And when Sonja was gone I didn’t have a reason to stop anymore.”

Playing with the strings of his hoodie, Isak cranes his neck, looking up at the boy he was finally starting to think he had worked out. Something tells him that he’s actually quite far from solving the puzzle, and maybe, he always will be.

“What about now?” he whispers. Even smiles, and looks down at him.

“Now I have you.” He says, simply. “Now I want to stop.”

Isak can’t argue with that. They lie together for the rest of the week, hardly moving for much more than a cheese toasties or a bathroom break. Isak tells Even about parallel universes- but Even makes him stop. He doesn’t like the idea apparently. It makes him feel alone.

When Isak’s phone buzzes and buzzes and buzzes, Even huffs, snatching it off the side to turn it on silent.

“I think it’s your mom.” He says, nodding at the slurry of lengthy texts that flash up on the screen. Isak just rolls his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it.” he turns the phone off completely, tossing it to the end of the bed. He supposes now is a good a time as any. Even knows him more intimately than anyone else in his life, besides maybe Jonas. He’s certainly unlocked his _level ten_ tragic backstory.

“My mom is crazy.” He says, candid, uncaring. “She thinks the world is about to end. She thinks Donald Trump is my uncle. We haven’t been in touch since I moved out, during second year.”

Even’s facial expression is still and unreadable. “And why is that?” he asks, quiet. Isak just shrugs, burying his face further into the home it’d made for itself in the centre of Even’s chest.

 

“I just decided my life was better off without mentally ill people in it.” it’s a careless whisper within a yawn, and Isak can already feel himself falling asleep as Even fidgets beneath him and then, he’s asleep. The next time he opens his eyes, Even is gone.

 

He doesn’t see Even for two weeks after that.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak just wants Even back.

**_Part Two_ **

 

 

 

 

His calls go unanswered. His texts aren’t even read. He lurks around Even’s apartment building, waiting to catch a glimpse of blonde hair wandering down the streets- but it’s no luck. Nobody else he knows has any idea _who_ Even is, so it’s not like he can just _ask_. It also doesn’t help that Even is a total social media fucking _ghost_ \- no _facebook_ , no _Instagram_ , _nothing_.

Isak doesn’t want to think of the worst, but on the fifteenth day without any contact, he thinks about the emergency supply of coke tucked in the back of his dresser. _Had Even relapsed_? It’s a thought he never wanted to think. They’d both been doing so fucking well. Isak’s hair had gained that bounce back- Even’s lips were no longer dry and chapped and his skin didn’t itch without a quick fix. They’d quit because they _wanted_ to quit. They were too busy being high on each other.

And now they were apart.

If Even’s relapsing… well, Isak doesn’t know what to make of it. He looks _again_ at the dresser where his coke lays, idle but _alive_ , tucked behind his old clothes. If he doesn’t have Even to make him feel high anymore… well- what else is he really supposed to do?

“Hey have you seen my lighter? The red one?”

Isak has never been more thankful for Jonas’ tendency to barge into his room unannounced. In recent months, he’d seen far more of Isak and Even that he probably ever wanted to.

“Here, take mine.” He mumbles, tossing Jonas the pink clipper Even had given him as a present. Jonas pockets it, nodding in thanks, but frowns when he looks at Isak, sat awkwardly on the end of the bed he was starting to think of as _theirs_ , rather than his.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Have you and Even had like, a fight or something?”

Isak stands up. There’s one more place he hasn’t looked for Even.

Jonas is still staring at him in the doorway, eyebrows doing a terrible job at disguising the worry on his face.

“Isak?”

“-Or something” Isak answers, grabbing his jacket off the bed and rushing out of the room, checking his watch. The group started at _19_ , every Friday evening. If he hurried to the tram stop, he’d probably be able to make it there on time.

It had been months since he’d last set foot in the support group- not once since the first ever meeting- but the sad, limp banner still hangs and the same old faces still gather round, doing their fucking paired _trust_ exercises or whatever. They don’t seem to look any better than they had the first time Isak had seen them, and he scoffs. They clearly didn’t get it. They hadn’t had the same epiphany he and Even had.

 

_The only way to get over an addiction was to find something else to be addicted to._

 

“Vilde!” he tugs the small, blonde girl by the arm a little harshly, and she whirls round, a soft frown on her face.

“Isak?! What are you doing here?”

“I, uh-” that’s a question. Isak isn’t sure what a good excuse would be for not showing up to a group _he signed_ up for in three months before suddenly showing up again, completely out of the blue. He chooses to skim over it, hoping she doesn’t press for more. “Nei- I… uh, I was wondering if you’d seen Even, that was all?”

“Oh, Even,” she looks down at the floor, sadly. But _is_ it sad? Isak can’t really tell in his panic, but it looks a lot more like pity than empathy. “Sucks, doesn't it? But you can’t help everyone, I guess.”

Isak frowns. “And what do you mean by that?”

Vilde raises an eyebrow. Isak mimics her stupid fucking expression.

“Didn’t you hear?” she asks. Isak shakes his head. _Evidently fucking not,_ he wants to snap, but bites his tongue. “Even relapsed the other day. So _sad_!”

“He _relapsed_?” _Shit_. Isak bites the inside of his cheek, extra hard, trying to ignore the pricking of tears behind his eyes. Of course, it had always been a possibility. It still didn’t fucking tell him _why-_ because as far as he was aware, they’d been so _fucking good_. Isak hadn’t thought about drugs for weeks. He thought that Even felt the same.

“Ja, _ja_ , so sad,” Vilde says, but she doesn’t fucking _sound_ very sad. “Apparently, he was like, completely off his face- walking around the streets naked. Nobody has seen him since.”

“Fuck.” Isak says. Vilde just nods, then, she makes a weak excuse to get out of the conversation, wandering over to a pair in the corner, struggling with a fucking _trust-fall_. Isak wants to scream- smoke- maybe even snort something white and expensive. He pushes all those thoughts into the back of his mind. He and Even had promised each other- they were quitting because they _wanted to_ , and so far that was all they had needed. That didn’t mean he was just going to _disown_ Even, for one stupid mistake. They would make it through. They’d make it through _together_ , like they always planned.

 

 

_Til Even_

_Vilde told me_

_I’m so sorry, Even_

_This isn’t your fault_

_Please reply_

_I’m so scared._

 

Isak bites his lip, but the texts go unanswered for hours. He’s wandering around the city, despite the fact that it’s long past nightfall and the drunks and homeless are out in force. Only a few months ago- Isak knew he would’ve been one of them, staggering out of a party in the arms of someone he hardly knew, ready to be used and tossed aside like a piece of trash. Even had _taught_ him in the months since- he’d fucking put him back together piece by piece and taught him that he was worth more than all those assholes put together. He deserved to be treated like a fucking _human being_ , rather than a toy for people to entertain themselves with until the music stopped and the pieces didn’t work anymore.

A few tears slip down his face, and Isak doesn’t even have the energy to brush them away. Instead he looks down at his phone, and notices the time.

 

_21:21_

 

It brought him back to a moment a few months ago, not long after they first met. They’d been laid in bed (where else did they bother spending all their time?) and Even had turned to him, asking in that deep, gravelled voice: _what time is it_.

 _21:21_ Isak had said, and Even arched an eyebrow.

_"Really?"_

_"Yeah"_

_"That’s so cool."_

_"Is it?"_

_"It is. It’s our time. 21:21"_

 

 

And then his phone lights up with a text.

 

 

_Fra EVEN NARKOTIKAGRUPPA_

 

_Dear Isak,_

 

_I’m now sitting at the place where we met each other for the first time and I’m thinking about you. Soon it will be 21:21. I want to tell you a thousand things. Sorry for scaring you. Sorry for hurting you. Sorry for not telling you. I was afraid of losing you. I’d forgotten that it’s not possible to lose someone, that all people are alone anyway. A differ_ _ent place in the universe we are together for all eternity. Remember that._

 

_Love you. Even_

 

Isak wipe the tear from his face with the back of his sleeve, breath catching in his throat. _Remember that_? It doesn’t make sense. Even was talking like they were never going to see each other again. But that couldn’t be possible. Isak would never leave him. Not unless-

Isak’s feet start moving before his brain has the chance to catch up. He sprints, all the way back to the piddly little building the support group is held in. Through the window, he can still see Vilde and the girls, wide smiles, addressing the group as a whole as everyone embraces tightly. Isak doesn’t have time to stall around and watch people pretend to be happy.

He has his own happiness that he can’t bear the thought of losing.

Isak’s heart stops when he makes it to the bench and it is empty. There is no Even, standing there, waiting for him. Isak remembers in this moment that life isn’t like a movie- not even like those fancy, big-picture surreal festivals of colour and light that Even makes them watch when they’re too stoned to talk to each other. Isak cries, just like he cried at the film, because he wishes so desperately that it _was_ , and things could be just be easy.

 

“ _The lead must die, otherwise it isn’t an epic love story.”_ Even had told him- and Isak hadn’t thought anything of it until _now_ , in the one moment where he wants nothing more than to prove to Even that he’s _wrong,_ Baz fucking _Luhrmaan_ is wrong, everyone else is _wrong_.  He wants to close his eyes, tightly, and then open them again to see Even, standing before him with his arms open- safe and _alive_ and-

 

“Isak?”

 

Isak whirls around. Even walks out of the building, probably leaving the bathroom, with his coat pulled tightly over his head and a beanie keeping his hair tucked away. He looks pale and ridged and shaken. His lips are dry- eyes red from crying. Isak’s breath hitches and the whole world around them falls into slow motion.

 

“ _Even_.”

 

Even walks towards him slowly, but Isak doesn’t have time to wait for him to bridge the gap. He runs towards Even as quickly as he can, stopping just as there is an inch of breathing space between them. He raises his hands to Even’s head and holds it in place tightly, shaking his own.

 

“You’re _not alone_.” he whispers, because he isn’t sure what else there really is to say. Even doesn’t have an answer to that. He just lets Isak kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until they are two boys, standing in the middle of an empty, silent world, embracing each other because there is nothing else left to hold on to.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

There’s a lot in Even’s text that Isak still hasn’t been able to decipher, leaning back on his bed as Even sleeps soundly beside him. He’d put it down to a heavy comedown, the reason Even had barely opened his eyes, barely ate, hadn’t showered in the past two days. He stares at his phone, frowning as he reads the text over for the thousandth time.

 

 

_I’m now sitting at the place where we met each other for the first time and I’m thinking about you. Soon it will be 21:21. I want to tell you a thousand things. Sorry for scaring you. Sorry for hurting you. Sorry for not telling you. I was afraid of losing you. I’d forgotten that it’s not possible to lose someone, that all people are alone anyway. A different place in the universe we are together for all eternity. Remember that._

 

“Sorry for not telling you.” He whispers to himself. “Not telling me _what_ , Even?”

“Hmm?” Even mumbles, turning over to face Isak, opening his eyes and actually _looking_ at him for the first time in hours. Isak stiffens slightly. He’d wrongly assumed Even was still asleep.

It’s a loud, heavy swallow that rings through the room. Even continues to stare, and Isak supposes that it’s now or never. Up until this point, Even hadn’t really felt like talking. If he doesn’t take advantage of it now, he likely never will

“What did you mean, in your text?” he asks, heart hammering. The last thing he wants to hear, of course, is that _the drugs made me want to kill myself_. But nonetheless, that’s of course what he is expecting. There isn’t any other explanation for Even’s behaviour, and Isak has been there. Sometimes, it’s three AM, and you’ve done so much _K_ that you can’t feel your legs, or your hands, or your face. You want to scream, but your mouth doesn’t work anymore, so all you can muster is silence. You don’t want to live. You’re entirely not sure if you want to die either.

 “When… when you said _sorry for not telling you._ Was that… were you saying you were gonna-”

“-I meant about my bipolar.” Even sighs, and Isak freezes beside him.

“ _What?_ ”

Even lifts his head, just barely, and frowns “My bipolar. You said that Vilde told you.”

“Vilde told me you’d _relapsed,_ I- she didn’t- _what_? _Bipolar?”_

Even’s eyes blow wide, despite how tired his face is. There hasn’t been much in the way of physical communication since Isak had taken him home two nights previous, but here, the shock on his face is clear. Even opens and closes his mouth a few times, like cant quite figure out what to say next. Isak too, as at a complete loss for words.

“You’re… _bipolar_.” He settles on saying. Like it isn’t pretty fucking obvious by now.

Isak isn’t sure how he’d managed to miss the signs before. There wasn’t much he knew about _bipolar_ itself, but there was one thing that was now, blindingly clear.

“You said your life was much better off without mentally ill people in it so I thought-”

“- _Even_ , no.” Isak practically collapses, laying beside Even so they are face to face. “I- I didn’t mean-”

“-but you _said_ ,” Even rolls onto his back, facing the ceiling. “You _said_ , and you was right. I didn’t want to hold you back any more Isak. You were doing so fucking well. You didn’t need me to fuck it all up at the last minute.”

“You were the only thing keeping me going.” Isak shakes his head, burrowing further into the pillow. Even doesn’t react, and finally, Isak understands. Because this isn’t just an extra-bad comedown. This is _depression_. “Even. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It _is_. I made you feel like you should be alone, and that isn’t the way that anyone should be. I don’t care that you’re bipolar. I love you no matter what.”

At that, Even stirs the energy to turn is head back, and look down at Isak.

“You love me?” he asks, the smallest, gentlest of smiles playing on his tired face. Isak nods, not breaking eye contact for a second.

“I do.”

 

 

It’s a lot easier after that.

 

 

 

They’ve worked out a new system. Isak calls it- _**Isak og Even, minutt for minutt**_  and Magnus fucking loves the title.

 _“Dude, that’s some fucking NRK shit!_ ”-

-he’d said, beyond excited not just because he was weirdly obsessed with Even these days- but because his mother was bipolar, so for once, he actually had something worthwhile to add. Not that Isak will ever tell him- but he’d been a pretty big fucking help in the last few weeks.

It isn’t the same exhilarating thrill ride it was before. Isak didn’t feel _high_ when he saw Even, laid motionless in his bed without the energy to breathe, let alone engage in conversation for a week and a half. But it didn’t matter. Because now he had an even better reason to stop taking drugs.

He has to be strong in order to take care of Even, the boy he loves. That isn’t going to work when he’s got half a gram stashed away in a sock drawer just in case he feels the need to escape reality.

Whilst Even sleeps one night, Isak digs into his drawer and pulls out the emergency baggy. The plastic isn’t even see through anymore- it’s taken on a slightly yellowish colour, but he opens the bag and the shit still smells the same. Coke isn’t like _milk_ , it doesn’t have a fucking expiration date. Not that Isak needs it.

He pads through the hall, barefoot, into the bathroom. He takes one last look at the powder inside the baggy before tipping it upside down, emptying the contents into the toilet. When he flushes, he cant tear his eyes away as the tiny white microgranules mix with the water, swirling down in one, mixed up blur of _white_.

He can’t help himself. He sheds a tear even though he doesn’t feel sad. It’s more like… _euphoria_. Freeing even. When Isak turns to exit the bathroom, Jonas is there, leant against the doorway with a  soft, smile on his face and it’s barely seconds before Isak is closing the gap between them, burying himself in Jonas’ arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” Jonas keeps saying, over and over as Isak cries into him. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Isak.”

Isak cries because he doesn’t know what to say. All he knows for sure is that he doesn’t need emergency coke anymore. They’ll make it just fine without.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Isak never thought he’d be the one to admit it- but he actually _enjoyed_ going back to the support group.

It didn’t matter that he and Even had done just fine abstaining from drugs (well, not _weed,_ obviously) on their own. For some reason, they both had just sort of decided that maybe, having at least one thing be stable in the ever swinging pendulum they called life wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Even if it meant listening to Vilde get off on her own sense of self-entitlement once a week- Isak could deal, because Even always sat right beside him, reaching over to take Isak’s had in his, lacing their fingers together. They did all the silly group exercises- they took _trust falls_ and wrote diaries and _cooked_ together, bringing their fucking cupcakes to the meeting once a month (Even cooked, Isak watched, and did his best to distract him whenever available) and the girls smiled and hugged them at the end of every meeting, telling them they were just doing _so well_.

These days, the only white pills Even was taking was his prescribed medication. The only powder Isak was interested in was the icing sugar even made him siv onto the top of each cupcake individually, since he was doing such a good job at being a completely _useless_ kitchen assistant.

For Isak, it was like he blinked, and a year had passed. A year since he’s stepped into the stupid addicts anonymous group for the first time. A year since Even had stolen all the tissues in the toilet and they’d gone on a bender. Six months since they’d stopped relying on each other to feel high and started focusing on actually living sober instead. Six months since Even’s episode. Four months since they’d moved in together.

One year since Sana had stolen is fucking ten percent.

Persuaded was a lax word to use- Vilde had essentially bullied them into hosting the ‘one-year clean’ festival at their apartment. There would be _no drinking_ , and certainly no drugs present. Isak just laughed as he looked at Jonas, Mahdi and Magnus huddled in the corner nibbling on Even’s festive fucking gingerbread, sipping their _lemonade_ bitterly. If they were good and stayed for the whole party, Isak had promised them a smoke and maybe a beer later. But this time, he definitely wouldn’t be joining them.

 

“Hei, _Isak_. Hei Even.” Sana smiled at both of them, looking as proud as a fucking parent despite the fact that she was a different race and almost a foot shorter than both of them. Isak supposed that none of that really mattered. Sana was as close to a mother he’d had in the last few months. Really, the support group was her brainchild. She was just being a good friend by letting Vilde take all the credit.

“I have a gift for you. For Christmas.” She smiled. Isak raised his eyebrow.

“A gift? I feel bad, now! I didn’t get you anything!”

“It’s fine,” she smiled, coyly. Then, from inside the small handbag she’d been carrying, she pulled out a small, faded plastic baggy and waved it between two fingers. Even frowned, amused. Isak raised his eyebrows, accepting the gift with a grin.

“My ten percent!”

“You’ve earned it.” she nodded. “We’re all very proud. We were sort of worried about you, for a while, back then. Jonas was the one who begged we keep you at the meetings.”

“Of course.” Isak smiled, shaking his head fondly. Suddenly, it was like he’d been yanked back in time to high school. All his friends, working together, conspiring against him just so he could be _out_ and happy. He had Sana to thank for a lot of things- acing biology, coming out to the whole school, and now, getting clean. Getting a _boyfriend._

“What happened to no drugs at a drug addicts anonymous meeting?” Even asked, raising a teasing eyebrow. Sana just scoffed, and then smiled at both of them, expression unreadable as ever.

“I guess this time I can make an exception.” She shrugged, before turning and exiting the kitchen, heading back to the girls and all their guests. Now, Isak and Even were alone again, side by side, the faint scent of stale weed in the air.

“Let’s have a look then,” Even reached for the baggy, but Isak held it away, shaking his head teasingly.

“Nei, you’re not getting any of it!” he exclaimed. “It’s purely sentimental. We’ll keep it as a memento of our time at _Narkotikagruppa_!”

Even rolled his eyes. “Really? We’re going _cold turkey?_ ” he asked with a laugh. Isak paused, pretending to think it over, but his whole face was a total giveaway. These days, he couldn’t so much as look Even in the eye without grinning.

“Okay, maybe not cold turkey…” he passed the baggy over, and Even opened it, taking a little sniff. There was nothing great about weed that had been kept for over a year. They probably _really_ wouldn’t smoke this batch. That didn’t mean they couldn’t get more. “I am still best friends with Jonas, after all.” He laughed. “Luke-warm turkey, maybe?”

Even’s eyes sparkled. “Weed on weekends?”

 

Isak leant forwards and brushed their lips together. “Sounds perfect-” he muttered, mouth mostly covered by Even’s own as his boyfriend- his _everything_ \- leant forwards and connected them in a kiss. Everything had changed, but at the same time, he still had that tugging in his chest every time they were close like this. It was like he had said to the boys, however many months ago. It wasn’t just the weed. Their souls were fucking _intertwined_.

 

“Happy One Year, baby.” Even whispered to him. Isak grinned.

 

“Happy one year, Even.”

 

 

_\- the end -_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know in the comments below :)

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 will be out soon :) Let me know what you thought!


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